


Thor Lynn

by mysticmjolnir (empressmaude)



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M, Minor Jane Foster/Thor, gilded forest god loki, sensible but curious scientist jane, sparkly fae youth thor, very minor though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 04:12:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5953159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empressmaude/pseuds/mysticmjolnir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <br/>
    <i>I forbid you maidens all that wear gold in your hair<br/>To come or go by Carterhall, for young Tam Lin is here</i>
    <br/>
  </p>
</blockquote><br/>Jane gets lost in the woods, Thor asks for her help, and Loki rages.
            </blockquote>





	Thor Lynn

**Author's Note:**

> This is based very loosely off the old scottish ballad of Tam Lin. [Here](http://tam-lin.org) is some more information if you like, and [here](http://music.sjtucker.com/track/tam-lin) is a link to my favourite version of the song.
> 
> You don't need to click on anything above to understand the fic.
> 
> Thank you to [Sheila](http://sheilatakesabow.tumblr.com) for reassurance and OMG THANK YOU [Amber](http://amberfox17.tumblr.com) for betaing!

It is a cool spring evening as Jane walks along the little path that leads from the manor into the woods nearby. A day of hard work and study in Lord Selvig’s workshop has left her a little restless, and she is glad to steal a little time to herself and stretch her legs. The manor gardens are lovely, but she craves a little of the wilderness now, after so many hours of struggling to label the world into explicable boxes.

As she enters the woods she takes a deep, refreshing breath, the sweet earthy scent of the forest settling her spirit. A breeze rustles the trees and the grasses beneath, cold enough to make her wrap her shawl tighter about her shoulders, but not enough to make her turn back. A short, brisk walk in the woods is exactly what she needs. The sun is already low, but Jane will be back before it sets.

The stony path dwindles to a narrow trail of flattened plants a few minutes in, a few encroaching bushes tugging at Jane’s skirts. She marches on, enjoying the fresh air on her face and all the sounds and sights and scents of the woodland. The further in she goes the louder the rustling of the trees becomes, carrying with it an eerie, mournful sound. Jane might be a dedicated scientist, but that doesn’t mean she has no time for romance. She shivers to herself, smiling a little at the tales her friend Darcy would weave were she nearby. Ghosts and dryads and boggarts, no doubt.

The thicket she is making her way through abruptly ceases, presenting her with an endless expanse of trees each at least an armspan apart, and a glorious carpet of vibrant bluebells. Jane wishes she had her sketchbook to hand to despite the fading light. Instead, she has a better idea – a few flowers will brighten her desk and give her a pleasant reminder to make time for a longer walk during the daytime during her stay.

She bends down to pick one but before she can break the stem-

“Halt, lady, in the name of the King!” a voice shouts, the authoritative tone somewhat spoiled by the uneven hoarseness of the caller’s voice.

Jane straightens quickly, looking around. She sees a young man not ten feet from her, looking….well, frankly, looking like he might have wandered off a stage in the West End. He is half naked, with trousers made of leather and fur and …what look like leaves? His tangle of golden hair hangs below his shoulders, unwashed but still shining, and his skin glows and shimmers in the dying light.

“H-hello?” she asks uncertainly.

“You are trespassing,” he tells her sternly. His youthful face, just on the cusp of hardening into handsome manhood, and bright blue eyes distract from the threat he seems to be attempting to convey. Jane is used to annoyed young men thinking they know better than her, although usually they’re wearing white coats in science laboratories rather than barefoot in the woods. And a great deal less pretty than this creature.

“This is the King’s land and the King’s flowers,” he continues, folding his arms across his chest. “You have no right to pick them, or to walk here.”

Jane glances behind her and sees no path at all. “I believed I was walking in the grounds of Lord Selvig,” she says, trying to remember a map of this area and what King this boy might be talking about, considering Queen Victoria has been on the throne for thirty years and more. “I did not realise I had strayed too far.”

He eyes her imperiously, evidently unimpressed. Jane looks back, wondering who on earth he is and where he comes from. “My name is Jane,” she offers, too curious to simply turn back and find her way home yet. “Might I know your own?”

“I am Thor,” he says after a pause. “I am the guardian of these woods, by order of King Loki.”

Jane processes this information slowly. She has never heard of a King Loki, ever. The golden light of the sunset seems to be fixed, on the cusp of fading into darkness but lingering longer than it should over the endless bluebells. It should be twilight now by her reckoning, as spring sunsets are usually brief. Thor has a green leather belt around his hips, with a wicked looking knife hanging from it. She thinks about what Darcy would say if she were here.

“I am sorry for my trespass,” she says with a bow in Thor’s direction. “I did not mean to offend his Majesty, or yourself.”

Thor immediately looks mollified, and drops his arms. “You are forgiven,” he says, nodding. “Do you require assistance to find your way back?”

“I would, yes, but since I have found this place I would walk here a little longer,” she says. “Would you keep me company?”

“You do not have permission to walk here,” Thor reminds her, looking stern again. “…but you may, for a while,” he relents.

Jane smiles at him and he smiles back, like the sun peeking out from behind a cloud. She feels astonishingly fond of him already. “Will you tell me about yourself?” she asks as they begin strolling through the bluebells. “How did you become the protector of this glade?”

This, it seems, was the wrong question to ask; he immediately looks utterly wretched, and then carefully blank. “My King ordered me here,” he admits, unhappiness leaking through his tone like light through a veil. “I….I was not here before.”

“Where were you?” prompts Jane.

“By his side, at court.” Thor sighs at the memory, his hands coming up to clutch at his arms as if chilled. “I was his personal guard, we were together always. But then he sent me here. I do not know why – he would not tell me, only say that I must leave and come to guard this place for a time.” He looks miserable now, his lower lip pouting expressively. “I had no choice but to obey.”

This is quite a story to share with a stranger, but Jane senses that Thor is quite lonely here, in the bluebell glade, and longing to unload his miseries. It adds to her belief that either she is in a particularly lucid dream, or has fallen in the woods and hurt her head, or (one must always consider all possibilities, however odd) that Thor is no mortal but a fairy creature, and the King he speaks of is the King of the Forest and the Fae. Jane is not familiar with such tales, but she remembers Lord Selvig speaking of some local legends over dinner.

“Perhaps he will call you back soon,” she says to try and comfort him. Thor’s hopeful glance yanks painfully at her heartstrings, but then he sighs again and shakes his head.

“It has been months now, I think…I do not know. I wish I could speak to him again, convince him to let me return to court and be his protector once again. But I cannot leave here, cannot even go to seek some quest, something to prove to him I am his strongest arm and belong by his side.” He kicks the ground moodily and a flock of birds take abrupt flight overhead. “There is a ride soon. I should be beside him but I will be far behind, I will not even be able to see his face…”

“Why can’t you leave?” asks Jane, her pity mingling with fond amusement at his loverly anguish.

He gives her an annoyed look, as if she is being particularly stupid. “Because he ordered me to guard this place,” he repeats slowly. “Even though the only trespasser in five moons has been yourself.”

“You did stop me from taking his flowers,” she points out, trying to lift his spirits.

Thor scrunches up his face. “True, I did. He does not like mortals very much.” He glances at her thoughtfully. “He would probably be angry that I did not make you leave at once,” he says. “But…it is nice to have company. And he will never know, because he will never….” His lip trembles once, and he looks away.

They continue in silence for a while, in what Jane thinks is a circle around the glade, as the sun stubbornly remains just above the horizon. She would like to reach out and comfort him, but there’s nowhere to touch but his naked shoulder. “I am sorry,” she says eventually, meaning it. It seems very cruel for him to be posted here alone, pining for his heartless King and barking over bluebells. “I would help you, if I could.”

“I was not always a fae,” he says, as if he did not hear her. His eyes look straight ahead, his jaw very tight. “Once, very long ago, I was a mortal like yourself. I was hunting with my father and our men, but one day I saw a silver stag and I rode far to catch it. Eventually I fell from my horse in the woods, too remote from the others to help me, and as I struggled to stand a snake struck and bit my leg. As I lay dying in pain, the King found me and took me in his arms, and promised to save my life if I would spend it in service to him. I was in agony, and I agreed, and he bent to kiss the wound, and the next thing I knew, I was standing with him in a great throng of fairies, a proud warrior of Loki’s guard. When Malekith came to stain the woods with eternal night, it was I who slew his men while my King duelled him for the forest; when Lorelei tried to steal the King’s throne with lies and vile enchantments and poisoned kisses, it was I who withstood her charm and told the King of her plot; when his crown was stolen by the dread Fafnir it was I who hunted the dragon to his cave and slew him, and brought back the stolen treasures of a hundred kings to lay at the King’s feet. I have kept my word, I have served him with all my heart, I would fight a thousand armies for him – so why has he forsaken me? How can I protect him from here, how can I keep my promise if he sends me to the edge of the world to wither into dust?”

Jane hesitates to answer in the face of his unhappy rage. He takes great gulping breaths, scrubbing at his eyes with one fist. “Perhaps, if you feel your king has indeed forsaken you, you could return to the mortal world?” she suggests gently, trying not to think of the hysteria that returning to Carterhall Manor with this boy would create. “Perhaps….you may still have family to return to?”

He turns to stare at her with wide eyes, as if this thought had never occurred to him. “I...do not know how long ago my father lived,” he admits. “I remember I had a younger brother, but...it has been so long, I do not think…”

“If not, then you can come with me,” says Jane, and means it. Wherever or whatever this place is, if she can save Thor from his lonely vigil then she will. Perhaps she has indeed fallen and this is a conjuring her mind has created to occupy while waiting for rescue – but that is no reason not to offer this young man help.

Thor is looking dazed by the possibility of abandoning his fairy life and King, but less distraught than she had expected. “I could leave…it would not be easy, but I would no longer be stuck here. I could seek out my own adventures, prove my worth and strength and perhaps-“ He breaks off, flushing, and Jane does her best to radiate bland acknowledge of his distraction. “I will, if you will help me, sweet Jane.”

The look he turns on her would melt the heart of the harshest governess, his blue eyes limpid and pleading, golden locks framing his face angelically. Jane would not be able to resist even if she were not already pledged to help. “Of course. What do you need me to do?” she asks, pleased to have reached something practical at last.

“I cannot just leave here,” says Thor, looking frustrated. “You must come here in three days’ time, on the night before Beltane, and wait until midnight. There will be a ride passing through here, and I will be with them – you must pull me off my horse and hold me tight, and then I will be free to go with you.”

Jane listens to these instructions patiently, feeling no alarm at their strangeness. “How will I know you?” she asks.

“I will be riding a white mare,” he tells her. “I’ll be in the third group.”

They have finally reached a place Jane recognises a little, with a trampled path over the grass leading away from the bluebells and this golden glade. She smiles at Thor and takes his hand to squeeze gently. “I will return in three days then. I hope I will find this place again.”

“It is called Milescross,” Thor tells her. “Thank you so much, Jane, I swear I will repay you for this.”

She shakes her head and lets go of his hand, turning towards the path and stepping forward, but her foot catches on something and she stumbles-

-and she is at the edge of the woods, her skirts sodden to the knee and shivering in the cold darkness. The sun must have set at least an hour ago, and the only lights to be seen are the distant windows of Carterhall on the hill. Jane clutches her shawl tightly around her shoulders, dazed and frozen to the bone. She remembers Thor, and the promise that she made, but…it felt like a dream, the handsome heartbroken boy trapped by love and duty in an idyllic patch of forest frozen in time. She turns back to the trees, is half tempted to try and find her way back now to verify what she remembers. Why didn’t she simply insist Thor came back with her? Why did she promise to go back?

Gritting her teeth, Jane starts towards the house, trying her best to ignore the cold winds whipping her wet skirts and the growing ache in her head. By the time she knocks on a side door with a weak and shaking hand she can barely feel anything except the awful pulse behind her eyes. The housekeeper and Darcy carry her up to her room and give her a hot bath and change her into her nightclothes, then tuck her into bed with a tisane and a stern telling off. She tells neither of them about Thor – she is not sure how to explain it yet anyway.

By morning Jane’s head is well again, but she watches the dawn light creep into her room with an uneasy feeling. Yesterday feels far away but very pressing – she made a promise, and she feels compelled to keep it, however impossible that might be.

She spends the next three days burying herself in her work, not leaving the house once. Darcy forces her away from her samples twice a day to eat, lamenting at how distracted Jane is, how she barely seems able to hold a sentence together. Her friend frets that Jane has caught an illness, but Jane is perfectly fine, merely preoccupied. Her thoughts cannot be shared; Darcy would think she was truly sick, and Lord Selvig would think she had gone mad from too much time spent in laboratories breathing in dust. Although she spends all her time in the workshop, Jane has not progressed one bit since the day she went for a walk – instead, all her time is spent scribbling down half-thoughts about how a fairy court might function, or making wistful sketches that capture only a fraction of her memories, or simply sitting and remembering the golden light, the bright blue of Thor’s eyes, the scent of the bluebell woods.

Jane waits until everyone has gone to bed on the third night, then pulls on her sturdiest boots, her warmest coat and her wooliest hat and sneaks downstairs and out of the house with a borrowed lantern. She wakes purposefully towards woods, determined to see this through and full of muddled thoughts about how she should go about it. One moment she feels she should go back and wake Lord Selvig, tell him there is a vagabond living in the woods who needs help, the next she is trying to remember enough folklore to understand how a Fairy King can be challenged by a mortal. Some type of contest perhaps, or riddles? Thor said all she needed to do was pull him from his horse, but while Jane was the one to convince him to leave his oaths, she is not actually certain that this King Loki will let him go so easily.

Her lantern lights her way through the woods with a soft, comforting glow, but she walks for over half an hour along the same path without finding Thor’s glade. The thicket seems to stretch on forever, and Jane fears she has taken a wrong turn somehow. Still, she keeps going, checking and double checking either side of her for any paths leading away.

Eventually, after an hour of walking she comes to a junction in the woods, a crossroads of earthen paths each leading to a different dark corner of the forest. A stone marker stands where all four roads meet, with the word ‘Milescross’ etched into it. Jane stares at it for a while, then decides, against all logic, that this must be the place Thor meant for her to save him. She douses her lantern and settles in the shadows at the base of a tree, ready to wait for the procession to pass.

She waits over an hour, at least, and spends the time scolding herself for being a fool, starting at every rustling sound, and wishing she had brought Darcy for company and a witness. Jane is so wrapped up in her thoughts that she only notices the first group when they are already half passing her.

Ten black horses with ten dark riders: the entire ensemble seems like the night itself personified. The leader, a woman with a crown of blackened metal set with rubies, rides at a lazy pace. She is followed by a host of soldiers and courtiers, men and women with harsh, dangerous faces, and a beauty that Jane could hardly bear to look at for too long.

Next, ten more riders, now on brown horses, proceed past Jane’s hiding place. These are much stockier than the ones before but just as serious in face and aura. They wear what looks like ornamental versions of more practical gear, and thick leather gloves. Jane could swear at least five of them were women, despite the fact that every one of them has a beard.

Once the second group have passed Jane rises into a crouch, as quietly as she can. Thor should be in the next group. She must be ready.

Suddenly, she sees him – a golden figure on a milk white horse, wrapped in a bright red cloak and crowned with starlight. She half expects him to turn and see her, but he faces forward, looking more emotive than anyone else in the procession with a bored expression. Her heart thuds in her throat as he approaches, ten yards away, five-

With a yell, Jane rushes towards him, grabbing at the red cape and yanking as hard as she can. Thor yelps as well as he falls off his horse on top of her in a cascade of scarlet, far more fabric than he had appeared to wear a moment before. The woods warp around them, and Jane will look up and see what her actions have wrought the moment she manages to find Thor amid the mass of cloth piled on top of her.

Finally Jane’s hand finds a shape under the fabric and she grabs it eagerly, dragging it out and into view. Rather than Thor’s arm, she grasps the body of a golden serpent, thrashing wildly and hissing with rage. Jane shrieks and tries to smother the creature with the cape , pressing her weight down onto it to try and control its struggles. For a moment she succeeds, until the snake lurches up and throws her off, her hands still clutching the red cape, the fall knocking the breath out of her. Beneath the cloak the snake continues to flail, looking for an exit. It finds one, and Jane flinches in fear and pain as its teeth scrape her arm through her coat sleeves.

But it is not teeth that she feels, but claws, and to her utter astonishment a raven screeches into her face, wings flapping chaotically and shedding bent feathers over her. Confused but feeling bolder, Jane flips another part of Thor’s absurdly voluminous cloak over the raven, and suffers more scratches as she manages to bundle the bird up in scarlet velveteen. She takes the opportunity to look around, wondering what she should do now.

The other riders have vanished, and she is alone – no, not quite alone, for there are a thousand different eyes staring at her out of the darkness. Jane peers, trying to see the shapes behind them, but a roar from her wriggling burden startles her. The makeshift bag she has trapped the raven in grows heavy, too heavy for her to hold and as the cloth slides through her fingers a great brown bear rises up, huge claws outstretched and vicious teeth bared.

Jane shrieks in fright and tries to yank the cape away. The surprise and the bear’s poor footing is enough to send it sprawling to the ground, letting out another roar of anger. “Thor!” cries Jane, reaching out to grab a handful of fur, “Thor, calm down!”

Thor does not calm down, growling and pawing at the ground, but neither does he strike out at her, which Jane is profoundly grateful for. She looks around again; the eyes have vanished, but she is certain they are still watched. “Thor, we need to leave,” she says, feeling a little hopeless. “How…what should I do?”

She gets no answers, and does her best to hang on while Thor stands up again on his hindlegs, roaring at the forest around them. He sounds angry, and somehow more knowing than Jane. Suddenly, the sound changes, more distressed, and Jane turns to him in time for the bear to collapse, sending them both down to the floor again. She gasps, lack of breath making the air around her seem hotter, almost burning – until she realises the bear is nowhere to be seen, and all she is clutching is a blazing firebrand.

It takes incredible effort for Jane not to fling the fire away; she just closes her eyes and screams in pain as she feels her flesh bubble and blister, on her hands and arms and spreading upwards. She feels her clothes burning and charring onto her ruined skin, her hair beginning to crisp into ash, and for a moment she knows nothing at all but the agony of burning alive.

Abruptly, it is all over. Jane shudders against the cool grass, too afraid to open her eyes and see what is next. A strong arm curls around her shoulders and she hesitates for a moment before letting herself be pushed into a sitting position. “Jane,” says a voice that she has never heard before, and she opens her eyes to see Thor - but not the Thor she knew at all.

Instead of the lovely boy in leaves and leather, she sees a full grown man, with a strong, slightly bearded jaw. He is enormous with muscle, distractingly so, and his hair and skin have turned a darker gold. He is almost a stranger - but he has the same blue eyes and he is smiling at her, and Jane can see this is Thor as a mortal man, no longer frozen in time by fairy magic. She smiles back at him, giddy with joy that it is over, Thor is freed, and then they are kissing, warm lips framed by soft bristles pressing against hers, a gesture of gratitude and gladness.

They jerk apart again at another sound – a wounded yell, deep and anguished. Jane looks up and sees they have finally been joined by another, a figure of gold and green and black. She instinctively shies back at the look on his face: a twisted expression of rage and hatred is directed at her, green eyes the changing colours of the forest filled with pure loathing. He is dressed in fine robes, green edged and patterned with glittering gold, and is wearing a silver circlet on his dark head, with silver threads dripping through black hair worn both freely and in braids. Jane looks at the King of the Forest, and knows he is just as angry as she’d feared. She glances up at Thor, who looks impassively over at Loki. They both stand, Thor’s hand under Jane’s arm as a comforting support.

Loki shouts again and rushes over, making straight for Jane, but Thor steps between them and holds out his arms, using his own naked body as a shield against Loki’s vengeful intent.

“You dare lay hands on me?” screams Loki, right into Thor face.

“I dare!” Thor shouts back, completely unafraid. “I am not your creature any longer, I am my own, and I will dare much to protect the one who saved me from that desperate fate.”

Loki shrieks again, reaching and clawing his nails over Thor’s shoulders and chest, leaving bright red streaks. “No,” he snarls, looking and sounding half mad. “You are mine, mine! She cannot take you from me, you cannot leave-“

“You left me!” Thor replies, reaching for Loki’s hands and holding them tightly away from himself. “You grew bored of what you had made me and sent me away, sent me to wither into nothing. I thought you loved me. I thought your promises were worth more than nothing.”

“Never!” Loki writhes on the spot, trying and failing to get out of Thor’s grip. “I love you, I will never give you up, you will never leave me. I won’t let you! Your life is mine, this mortal _bitch cannot-“_

“She did nothing but what I asked of her,” Thor tells him. He is… he is incredible, standing naked and barefoot in the forest, restraining this furious fairy King with seemingly little effort, replying with steady calm as his erstwhile master and love rages at him. If she survives to leave this place, Jane will carry the memory for the rest of her life.

Loki is weeping now, glaring at Thor though his tears. It does nothing to make him seem more human. “Why?” he demands, still fighting to free his hands from Thor’s implacable grip. “Why do you break your oaths? I gave you eternal life, eternal youth, a thousand lifetimes to live at my side. I sent you away for a fraction of that. I would have brought you back to me.”

“An eternity of being controlled by you,” says Thor, “An eternity as nothing but a toy-“ Loki screams a denial but Thor does not pause, “-an eternity as an adoring child at your feet. An eternity of stagnation, of living solely upon your whim. A slow death, Loki, one I could no longer endure.”

“You swore to serve me,” spits Loki, managing to get one of his hands free only to have it caught again, Thor holding both of his hands up between them. “You think you are above me? I am a god, I am your King, I am-“

Thor kisses him. Loki is as surprised by this as Jane, who instinctively averts her gaze, scanning the forest and wondering how many creatures of the forest, fairy and otherwise, are watching them. She begins to wish she could melt into the trees as well, entirely forgotten by the lovers in front of her.

“You dare,” says Loki, panting, and by the sound of it Thor answers him with another daring kiss.

“I dare,” says Thor, his voice low and passionate enough to make Jane blush and peek back at them. He is still holding Loki’s hands, but their fingers are beginning to tangle together, and Loki is looking up at him with curiosity mixed with the remnants of his anger, tears still wet on his cheeks. “I dare to offer you a better bargain than the one you gave me when you stole me as a boy. I will be yours if you will be mine. I will guard you as I always have, I will give you all my heart, and you will never again dismiss me or send me from you.” Loki makes another half-hearted interruption and is wholly ignored. “I will have you or I will go and seek another life, though it would be ashes compared to what I wish for,” Thor continues, while Jane tries not to feel insulted – she is no magical monarch but the mortal world holds marvels enough for a good life, a worthy life. She thinks of the unhappy boy she first met and wonders, wonders how much of this was in Thor’s mind when he convinced her to help him.

“Stay,” Loki begs, looking dazed. “Anything, Thor-“ and then the two are kissing again, hands freed to wandered over each other’s bodies and tangle into hair, and Jane looks away yet again, blushing uncomfortably. She is not certain exactly how used she should feel, but she is certain she is exhausted and wishes to go home to her bed now.

“Marry me,” she hears Loki gasp, “I will have your oath in blood this time Thor, there will be no escape from me-“ 

“Nor from me,” Thor growls, and Jane gives up and coughs pointedly, causing them both to turn their heads in surprise. Thor offers her a smile but Loki glares and begins to pull himself from Thor’s embrace. Jane folds her arms and looks at Thor, who has the grace to look a little rueful, pressings a kiss under Loki’s ear and murmuring something to distract him. Loki makes an unhappy sound, but looks back at Thor and pouts. He lifts his hand from Thor’s shoulder and makes a dismissive gesture, and the winds start to rush around Jane’s ears, the woods whirling around her in green and gold and red and- 

Jane wakes up at the edge of the woods, feeling stiff and cold. She sits up, cringing at how wet her clothes are from the morning dew, and notes that she is laid in the middle of a ring of brown, flat-topped mushrooms. It cannot be long after dawn; the skies are grey but the sun’s heat is just beginning to warm the air and soon the clouds will dissipate. Jane rests there for a while, waiting for her head to clear. 

She remembers Thor being forced into different shapes by the magic that held him until finally the spell broke and he was free; she remembers the wrath of the Fairy King, and how Thor stood naked and undaunted before him; she remembers wondering how much cunning Thor possesses, whether he had ever intended to leave the forest at all. She remembers his kiss, and smiles, unable to hold onto any grudge or bitterness. He asked for help and she gave it, that is all. Hopefully he will be happy at his fairy King’s side once again, and she has had an adventure that she will never forget. 

She returns to the Manor and is fussed over once again by Darcy and the housekeeper, but there is no lingering reverie on her this time. She writes down everything that has happened, so she cannot think it away later, and falls gratefully into bed to rest. 

Over a month later Jane goes for a walk alone in the forest for the first time in weeks – Darcy has been coming with her as companion and guardian, no longer trusting Jane to bring herself home safely at all. Jane slips away after lunch and wanders along the path, wondering where it will lead her this time. 

To her surprise she finds herself in the bluebell woods again, and admires the glade for a moment before turning on her heel, intending to retrace her steps and hopefully avoid falling into any more fairy traps. But there is someone standing in the way, and Jane’s mouth falls open in shock. 

“Jane,” says Thor, smiling broadly. “It is good to see you again.” 

He has changed yet again – no longer fairy youth or mortal man, but something else, something that makes Jane’s toes curl inside her shoes. He is so tall - she did not quite realise that night just how tall. Before, he had a few inches over her but now it is a few feet, and she barely reaches his shoulder. His hair is loosely braided but still falls over his shoulder, comparable to the actual sunbeams shining down through the trees, with a crown of glimmering white light barely visible in the daylight. He is no longer naked, but neither is he fully decent: his clinging leather britches match the fine boots on his legs, with nothing but his old red cloak now draped over his chest, its folds tucked into a belt. Jane tries very hard not to stare at his chest, but her gaze cannot help dropping to the lone visible nipple and blushing. “A-and you,” she says, trying to remember how annoyed at him she ought to be. 

“I wanted to thank you again for your help,” he says, walking forward and folding her arm around his and beginning to lead her around the glade once more. “I hope you are no worse the wear for it?” 

“I, no, no, I am fine,” Jane says, her tongue somewhat clumsy in her mouth. “How are you? I mean, I hope that you…with your, um, that everything worked out as you wanted.” She winces and sighs, craning her neck to look up at him. “Did it?” 

“It did,” Thor says, a look of tremendous satisfaction on his face. “Loki and I are wed, and very happily so.” There is a silver ring on his finger, Jane notices, or rather rings, which interlock in an intricate design of clasped hands. “I would have invited you to the ceremony, but, well…” He trails off, and Jane tries not to giggle at the idea of being present at a fairy wedding where one of the bridegrooms is actively wishing her harm. Thor grins at her, and for a moment looks almost like a human being rather than an enchanted prince. “You need have no fear of Loki,” he assures her. “I have given him good reason to forget his grudge.” 

Jane laughs again, trying to smother her mirth with her hand. “I have none,” she says, “And I am glad that I could help you, Thor.” 

They stop, and Thor turns to face her. “For you,” he says, pressing something into her hand, and Jane looks down to see a perfect bluebell brooch, fashioned of silver and frosted glass and tiny diamonds glinting along the stem. She holds carefully it up to the light and it sparkles, her own little spray of fairy bluebells. “Thank you,” she says, turning to smile at him again- 

But he is gone, and she is alone in the woods again, standing in front of a dark, unwelcoming part of the forest, the trees too thick to enter and the wind whistling a chill in the air. Jane rolls her eyes and pins the brooch onto her blouse, fingertips lingering on the shape of the delicate miniature flowers for a moment. She silently wishes Thor well one last time and turns back down the path towards Carterhall, hoping to meet no more fairies on the way home. 

**Author's Note:**

> I am on [twitter](http://twitter.com/mysticmjolnir) and [tumblr](http://mysticmjolnir.tumblr.com) come be my friend.


End file.
